In late January, the tattooed, mascara-clad men of Motley Crue arrived at a Los Angeles press
conference in a flame-shooting hearse to announce their final tour.

Not one of those ambiguous “farewell” tours, mind you, where an aging artist calls it quits for
a few years before suddenly resurfacing as if the hiatus had never happened.

Seated behind personalized tombstones, Tommy Lee, Mick Mars, Vince Neil and Nikki Sixx confirmed
that the metal band’s upcoming run — a 72-date stretch that includes a Tuesday stop in Value City
Arena — would be their last.

“We don’t want to be one of those bands that maybe have one guy left in it, or somebody’s
brother,” said 53-year-old lead vocalist Neil, who, in 1992, left the group to pursue a solo career
before returning five years later.

“We want to go out with the four founding members and go out on top.”

There is apparently no room to go back on their word.

Each musician signed a binding legal document (which an on-site lawyer

described as a “cessation of touring,” thought to be the first of its kind) that in the future
forbids any member from performing music under the Motley Crue name.

A publicity stunt? For the purveyors of
Smokin’ in the Boys Room, perhaps.

But Sixx, the band’s bass player — who, in 1987, was declared legally dead for two minutes by an
ambulance medic after a heroin overdose — would rather the group leave the limelight in both good
health and artistry.

Despite a history of lawsuits among band members and managers, the split seems to be
amicable.

“We’re playing better and sounding better,” said Sixx, 55. “We don’t want to hobble off into the
sunset. We want to have some dignity. We want to call it a day and be proud.”

It might be considered a surprise to some that Motley Crue, one of the most notorious and
hedonistic bands of the 1980s, is still around (and functional enough) to declare its own
figurative death.

Copious use of drugs and alcohol coupled with arrests, backstage antics and celebrity feuds put
the foursome’s missteps on full display — and left no shortage of fuel for a brash 2002
autobiography,
The Dirt: Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band, which
Rolling Stone magazine deemed “completely compelling and utterly revolting.”

Their hits, likewise, champion riotous lifestyles — from the drug pusher in
Dr. Feelgood to the self-explanatory
Girls, Girls, Girls.

And don’t forget the yowls, the leather pants, the Aqua-Net-teased hair.

Although Lee, the longtime drummer, promised a high-octane performance, the once-unruly players
have mellowed.

Band members told the media that they’ll continue other ongoing and planned pursuits when the
tour concludes in November. Among them: restaurants, radio shows, solo recordings and a Broadway
musical.

They’re eager, meanwhile, to kick-start hearts again and shout at the devil onstage.

At least until the lawyers cut it off.

“We love each other like brothers,” said 63-year-old guitarist Mick Mars. “It’s time for us to
throw the towel in.”